"The quicker we get at it," continued the Orderly, "the sooner it'll be over. Serg't Klegg, take eight or 10 men and hunt around for some picks and shovels. I think that deep trench over there behind the works 'll do for a grave. You can shovel the bank right down on them and save hard work. Serg't Wilson, you take eight or 10 men and gather up these pieces o' men and lay them in there. Corp'l Jones, you take another man or two and go around and kill those horses. Be careful how you shoot now. Don't hurt anybody with glancing bullets. Corp'l Elliott, you take the rest and go round and gather the guns and other things, and pile them up there by that tree to turn over to the ordnance officer. Hustle, now, all of you." "They didn't think they were digging their own graves," philosophized Monty Scruggs, as he stood shovel in hand watching the remains being gathered into the trench. "He digged a ditch, he digged it deep; He digged it for his brother, But for his great sin he fell in The ditch he'd digged for t'other." "Good, good, Monty," said Si. "That's the best thing I've heard you spout yit. Give us some more of it." "There isn't any more of it. The only thing I can think of is: "The rebel Solomon Grundy; Born in Georgia on Monday; Become a rebel on Tuesday; Run off from Buzzard's Roost on Wednesday; Got licked at Dalton on Thursday; Worse whipped at Resaca on Friday; Blown up by a shell on Saturday; Died and buried on Sunday; And this was the end of Solomon Grundy." Alf Russell's interest in anatomy had led him to join Serg't Wilson's party in gathering up the ghastly fragments of bodies, but the sights were too much for his nerves, and as he perceived that he was growing sick at the stomach he went over to Shorty's squad.